Not All Those Who Wander Are Lost
by Coldpockets
Summary: Only a slight AU. Extended drabble/oneshot about the characters post-movie. Several pairings, no real focus. AragornArwen; MerryPip; FrodoSam; possible LegolasGimli. "He wanders without purpose, and slowly drinks in the glory of Men."


Title: Not All Who Wander Are Lost

Word Count : 971

Rating : K, for...contemplation and some fluff.

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters herein contained. I only own the text.

Another LOTR fic. I was very tempted to classify it as being in the movieverse, but technically I twisted the very end to my own happy idea, and so alternate universe it was. The title was actually thought up after the fic was written, and was merely a happy coincidence that fit very well. This was born out of--well, actually I have no idea. I think it would have been nice if all the characters (other than Eowyn, who annoys me) ended up all in the same place after the end. I find the movie's end quite satisfying, but anyway. Fun to write, actually. I forgot myself completely, which was a lot of fun and a nice vacation. I definitely prefer to lose myself in other universes. A complete punctuation nightmare, with dashes and semicolons and such just thrown in at my whim. Lots of movie clips, or whatever, included in the italicized language. And almost a thousand words! My god! My crowning achievement, this is!

* * *

Aragorn and Arwen wander the castle together, their son—_beautiful boy, she whispers in his ear at night_—running, dancing and laughing like a joyful spirit. His lips—_soft, so so soft on her cheek_—are always curved up in a smile. Aragorn rules, and teaches his son—_this, this is athelas, or kingsfoil, and it can save a man's life; I know, I've seen it happen_—and he is a good king. He is almost ninety-five now, and his life is catching up with him—_what's wrong, she asks; nothing, just nightmares and the past_—but he is happy and the kingdom is prospering and his friends stay at the castle more often than not. Merry can be found wandering around the castle too, with an apple or a book or a pipe—_Longbottom leaf, the other says in awe, the best in the Southfarthing_—and he watches. The little boy calls to him, begs him to play—_please Uncle Merry, I've been so bored_—and Merry sometimes does. But mostly he wanders and watches. Pippin wanders alongside Merry, or else he stays in their room or the garden—_hobbits have a love for things that grow_—and watches for his other friends and companions. He likes evenings the best—_their fingers are entwined, simply holding hands; it is more than enough for either_—when Merry will take a walk in the garden with him, and they admire the tree—_a white tree burns and smoke floats up, but the vision dissipates and the tree blooms instead_—and then retire to their room and sleep, simply sleep next to one another. Legolas has a kingdom to rule—_empty halls pay tribute to long departed elves, wearing white and singing their way onto the ships and beyond_—but he spends no time there. It is desolate and lonely without the glamour of the fairer race—_Legolas and Arwen are the only ones left; their beauty is renowned in a new Age from which elves are absent_—and he finds comfort in the halls of his friend. He wanders without purpose, and slowly drinks in the glory of Men. Gimli wanders in the halls of the King with something just barely avoiding distaste. They are too wide, too bright—_the mines of Moria are a suffocating black lit only by the spiderwebbing mithril in the wall, but Gimli has not felt as comfortable anywhere else since leaving his home_—but they offer something he cannot find in the halls he has inherited. Companionship of any kind would be given him at home, but those relationships—_I never thought I'd die fighting side-by-side with an elf; what about side-by-side with a friend? Aye, I can do that_—are lacking the depth he found in his bonds with other races. Enjoying the landscape in agreement with another dwarf, he has found, is still incomparable with arguing about it with Legolas. He wanders often with the elf, and the arguments about the beauty of Aragorn's halls somehow make the surroundings more comfortable than the best stocked mine. Eomer has become a king in his own right—_unlike Legolas, he has people left to govern now, even in peace_—but he manages to visit every so often. He greets Aragorn with fond hugs—_Aragorn embraces Eomer in the manner used for soldiers who have fought in battle together, the manner of near-brothers_—and they often stay up late talking and discussing the world. Eomer rarely has enough time for visits longer than one night—_between traveling and the actual stay, he will be away from his throne for a week, at least_—and he has little time to wander the halls. Frodo wanders the halls of his King-friend absentmindedly, often rubbing the left side of his chest—_he screams as the ethereal, white king stabs him unfeelingly, face waxen and too pale to be alive_—as his eyes take in the others who wander. He has little to say anymore, though laughs—_peals ring from his lips as he spots his companions for the first time in many months_—are startled from his lips more and more often by the little boy or Merry or Pippin. He wanders, slowly healing from the wreckage the Ring made his mind, but healing nonetheless. Sam wanders only behind Frodo. He has not forgotten his purpose—_don't you lose him, Samwise Gamgee_—and will attend to it diligently. The trek has resulted in him becoming Frodo's entire world: friend, lover and guardian, and he will not desert Frodo now. He wanders, watching Frodo for anything amiss—_the rubbing of Frodo's chest becomes clutching and he pants agonizingly_—and still manages to talk to the other hobbits at the castle, though he is rather reticent around other members of their company. He wanders protectively, sharp eyes seeing everything in the castle there is to see. Gandalf wanders the halls of the King he has set up only rarely anymore. He has much to put to rights, and he must rise in Saruman's place—_when did the White Wizard resort to madness?_—but he comes when he can. He sees the strength of his friends as he walks leisurely, and he smiles secretively. He can see that the ends of Fate have been attained, and the means—_ends justify the means, someone once told him_—have been mostly forgotten. He sees the love of Aragorn and Arwen for each other and their son; Merry and Pippin's enjoyment of life itself; Legolas' interest and comfort in living near the only ones he has left anymore; Gimli's paradoxical discomfort and pleasure in the large castle; Eomer's genuine companionship with his bold friend; Frodo's healing and Sam's watching. The castle is large and there are many who wander within it, but none wanders truly alone.


End file.
